


The boarding year

by traumschwinge



Category: Sherlock (TV), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Awkward Good-bye Hug, Crossover, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 23:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles would have never expected that going to boarding school would get any better than simply leaving home. But then, he meets his roommate and in that moment he knows, he would never forget this time of his life - or the mind of his roommate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The boarding year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiver/gifts).



Even in the moment when he touched this brilliant, brilliant mind for the first time, Charles already knew he would never be able to forget _him_.

Charles had just transferred to a British boarding school. It had felt like quite a relief when he had received the letter, that the school was willing to take him in. It had been easier than he had thought to part with the people he—for the lack of a better term—called family. He was much too exited to visit England for the first time in his life and all the new things that would await him there.

And now, he was standing in the door frame of what would be his room—his _home_ —for whatever time it would take him to graduate. He surely wasn't gawping. Okay, at least not that much. He managed to pull himself together quickly and enter the room to drop his things off. Still, he couldn't help himself glancing at the lean boy who lying on the other bed and staring at the ceiling.

Carefully, Charles extended his telepathical senses to the boy again, gently brushing over his mind and marveling in awe how a brilliant mind like this could possible exist.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked. He didn't bother to move. His voice was calm and level. Charles was delighted to hear the boy's charming voice. It was just like he would have imagined it if he had imagined anything.

Still, somewhat startled to be caught prying, all Charles could say in response was a very ungraceful, “What?”

“I asked you what you have been doing,” the boy repeated. “You suddenly raised your fingers to your temple and became very still. So I was wondering. People don't do things like that.”

Charles couldn't help but to blush lightly. It wasn't the first time that he had been caught, but it was the first time somebody had caught him this fast. “I sometimes do that when I'm nervous,” he said, the well used lie flowing easily from his lips as if it were the truth. “It helps me to calm my mind.”

“Interesting,” was all the boy said in return, before he resumed staring in silence.

Charles brushed his consciousness over the boy's mind one last time, taking in as much of his marvels as he could, before he stood again. He should get his things unpacked. But still, the wonders of the boy's mind didn't leave his thoughts for one second while he took his clothes and the few books he had taken with him out of the suitcase and put them into the wardrobe and shelf where he decided they belonged.

He straightened himself once he was done. Enough time putting this off, if he didn't ask now, he would find out on his own, which would be very awkward if his tongue slipped later. He turned towards the boy, a bright smile on his lips, “By the way, I'm Charles. Charles F. Xavier, and I'm very delighted to meet you.”

Even now, the boy didn't stir. “The name is Sherlock Holmes,” he said. “And I think we might get along just fine.”

This was how Charles met Sherlock. Neither of them would ever forget this moment in their lives.

 

~*~

 

There were quite a few occasions in the time of their lives when they shared a room that were impossible to ever forget. 

“Are you a mind reader?” Sherlock asked one day, so entirely out of the blue that Charles almost choked on his lunch.

“Why would you think that?” Charles asked when he was finally breathing normally again and able to talk.

Sherlock looked at him in a way that clearly asked him how an intelligent person like Charles could posses the ability to make up such a stupid question. “For one, when you were asked today by our English teacher, you looked like you didn't have the slightest clue, but your answer was so correct, and I assume exactly what he had wanted to hear,” Sherlock started. “Then, you always seem to know where to go so you won't run into people you don't like. And, the final proof, you just passed me the salt, even though I didn't ask you to or even looked at it. I thought really hard that I would like some salt while paying attention not to think of anything else. And you passed me the salt, although I assume that you weren't paying much attention, given that you barely took your nose out of that biology book all day.”

All Charles could do was stare at him, slack-jawed.

“So I deduced right,” Sherlock said, a smile playing around the edges of his mouth.

For a mere second, Charles thought about lying, brushing this assumption off with a laugh and the explanation that telepathy was impossible. But he understood by now that Sherlock would see through the lie. And—even though this might be because he wanted to—he trusted Sherlock to keep his secret safe.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone," Charles whispered, leaning forward towards his friend. "I doubt other people might take this as well as you do."

"What makes you say that?"

"I saw their minds and... god, yours is so different from what theirs could ever be," Charles explained. He bit down on his lips but that couldn't hide his smile. "Yours is brilliantly unique."

"Is it?" Sherlock asked bemusedly. But Charles could feel his pride radiating around him like a tiny sun just had lit up.

Charles smiled. He enjoyed his friend's pleasure. Until he had met Sherlock, he would never had expected that there would be anyone in the world who might so much as tolerate his abilities. And now, Sherlock did not even not mind his abilities, he even took interest in them and otherwise didn't care at all. This was so much more than he could ever have asked for. Charles couldn't help but feeling incredibly fond of his friend.

“Would you mind me...?” Charles asked, giddy with excitement. He gestured with two fingers to his temple, indicating that he wanted to take a closer took into Sherlock's mind.

“Not at all,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “Why do you even ask? I doubt I would be able to stop you.”

Charles smiled sheepishly. “Usually, people do mind me reading or even taking a peek at their minds,” he explained. “It makes them angry and afraid and they start avoiding me. That's why I do this-” He wriggled his fingers.”-when I'm reading minds. It makes people think they can see what I'm doing and puts them at ease, at least a bit. I mean, I don't need to do it—obviously, I mean it's all about the mind, not the body—but it makes things easier.”

Charles knew Sherlock well enough by now to know he didn't understand why Charles would pay that much heed to the feelings of others, but he still had to try explaining himself. Well, Sherlock nodded, whether to indicate understanding or simply to dismiss the topic, Charles couldn't tell without prying. Most likely a bit of both.

So Charles got himself as comfortable as he could on the hard dinning hall's chair, closed his eyes and, with his index and middle finger resting coolly against his temple, he started to take a closer look at the single most brilliant mind he ever had encountered in his young life.

 

~*~

 

One evening, when there wasn't much homework, Charles pulled out his travel chess set and showed it to Sherlock. “Do you play?” he asked. His voice made clearly audible that he very much hoped so. 

“I never have,” Sherlock answered. He still sat up and looked as interested as he ever got when something didn't involve something curious, secret, or was a riddle people claimed to be unsolvable. “But I know the rules, so why not?”

“Splendid,” Charles cheered. He started to set up the chess pieces and then put the board down on his bed. “It's more comfortable to play here than at one of our desks,” he explained. He was relieved when Sherlock didn't argue that point. Then again, it seemed like Sherlock minded a lot of things less than other people would. A bit more of intimacy between friends was just one of many.

“Don't you dare to read my mind,” Sherlock said as he sat down on the opposite side of the board. It didn't sound concerned, more matter-of-factly.

“As if I would!” Charles laughed. “Last time I really tried to, I got so lost I was barely able to find back out.” That was mostly true. When he had tried to explore the insides of Sherlock's mind, he got carried away with it and only resurfaced from it after being slapped in the face by his friend. “Your mind's a labyrinth. Or, well, rather a palace so big, you neither want nor can get out of it,” Charles explained. “I'd rather get lost than finding out what you're planing.”

“A mind like a palace?” Sherlock repeated. He had raised an eyebrow and looked at him with a lot of skepticism.

“Yes, like... well, a mind palace in short,” Charles answered. “I think that puts it rather well.” He made his first move.

“A mind palace,” Sherlock chuckled. “Has a nice ring to it. And it has been called worse. What was it like?” He, as well, moved one of the pieces.

“Huge,” Charles said. His eyes were gleaming with excitement, just like every time he was thinking of Sherlock's mind. It was just about perfect, from what he had seen so far. “It's like … well, unlike any other mind I know, but then it feels oddly familiar. Like... Oh, maybe like a library. That might be a good analogy. There's everything and it's in a certain order but it's also difficult to navigate through or even find out when you go too deep inside.”

Sherlock simply nodded at this. They played in silence for a while, the pieces between them vanishing one after another until there were only very few left.

“Mate in four,” Charles eventually announced.

“You cheated,” Sherlock said flatly.

“I most certainly did not, my friend,” Charles laughed. Then, he bit his lip and admitted, “I might have caught one or two of your thoughts, but only because you were projecting very loudly. You never said anything about shutting you out.”

“I'd still call it cheating,” Sherlock huffed.

This made Charles laugh even more. “It's not like you didn't try to deduce my next move from my body language,” he teased.

In the end, they were both laughing and setting things up for a rematch, one of many.

 

~*~

 

With a sigh, Charles dropped his books into his suitcase. He didn't want to leave. The past year had been wonderful. He couldn't wait for the holidays to end. Curiously enough, Sherlock seemed to be looking forward to the holidays just as much as Charles himself did.

“You look awfully tense, my friend,” Charles remarked.

Sherlock looked at him wryly “I could say the same about you,” he shot back. “Don't like your family? Let me guess, your mother's remarried and you don't like the man she remarried to.”

Charles shrugged. He didn't like to talk about it. Instead, he sent a wave of sympathy towards his friend to calm him a bit and soothe his mind. Involuntarily, he also caught a trail of thought in the process. Charles cleared his throat. “Sherlock, you're projecting.” He had thought that his friend had learned not to do that by now, but maybe he was just to tense to mind it right now. “Who's that nemesis you're thinking about? He feels like a very sinister force.”

“That sums it up just about fine,” Sherlock said, packing the last items of clothing into his suitcase and shut it. “You will meet him soon. I'm sure he'll be there to pick me up today.”

Charles raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything about that. He was curious about that nemesis he had glimpsed in Sherlock's mind but he didn't dare to take another look. And his friend made no sign that he would tell any more about him at this point. So Charles would have to wait and see.

It turned out, he didn't have to wait long.

When the two of them had been done packing and left their room to get down to the front door, where the students would be picked up and seen off, there was a young man in a well tailored suite standing there and nodding at Sherlock as soon as he saw him.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said with so much pleasure as if Mycoft were a toad.

Charles looked back and forth between the stranger and his friend. There was something about the stranger that seemed familiar. Charles watched his face, his posture and his gestures closely, before he let his mind brush over the strangers. He couldn't help but gasp.

“He's your brother!”

“Of course he's my brother,” Sherlock said dismissively. “Who else would he be. Mycroft, this is Charles Xavier, he has been my roommate for the past year, but I'm sure you're aware of that.”

“Sherlock.” Mycroft didn't sigh, something Charles rarely witnessed with people who knew his friend. But Mycroft quickly turned his attention away from his younger brother and to Charles himself. “Charles, it's really marvelous that you've managed to spend a year in the same room as my brother and still haven't tried to kill him once. You seem to be one of a kind.”

“Then your brother and I have even more in common than I thought, Mr. Holmes,” Charles said, mustering his most charming smile. “He's also quite unique, in a rather good way, I'd even say.”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Well, the car's waiting for us, we should get going.” He clapped his hands together and turned towards a black sedan.

“How's mother?” Sherlock asked as he followed his brother to the car, suitcase in hand and Charles in tow.

“She's well, of course,” Mycroft replied without even turning while he was speaking. “She's looking forward to see you again.” If Sherlock looked displeased by that, it was only Charles who saw it.

They stopped near the sedan, Sherlock handing his luggage to the driver. Charles was at a loss for words to say. He had imagined them, or at least hoped for them, to have a little more time until they would part for two whole months of summer holidays. He didn't want to say good-bye just now.

“I'd say Mycroft expects to leave any minute now,” Sherlock said. “You look sad.”

“How wouldn't I be?” Charles asked in return. “We won't be seeing each other in months.” He clenched his trousers in his fist. “I don't like that at all.”

“We'll see each other the first day of the new year,” Sherlock said. He ignored his brother calling out for him. “Isn't that enough? But, truth to be told, I might miss having you near myself.”

Charles bit his lip and nodded. It wasn't too bad a thing to be looking forward to. Although, the looking forward part of it wasn't good either. “You should be going,” Charles forced himself to say. “There's not to say what terrible things your nemesis might do to you if disgruntled, right?” That made them both laugh a little, a bit sad and not at all cheerful. “Take care of yourself,” Charles murmured.

“You, too,” Sherlock replied and turned to the sedan, to leave.

“Sherlock!” Charles cried out before he could stop himself. He had even reached out for his friend. Sherlock turned around again, an amused smile on his lips. Charles caught waves of fondness and the indistinct feeling of deep friendship projected towards him by his friend.

Charles arms moved before he even knew he wanted to hug his friend. He had to lean up quite a bit to wrap his arms around the slender frame of the other boy, but that didn't stop him. It didn't even stop him that Sherlock didn't return the embrace. He could feel that his action wasn't frowned upon. Well, at least not by his friend.

“I believe Mycroft is glaring by now,” Sherlock whispered as Charles finally let go. Charles didn't even need to look or strech out his mind to know his friend was right about that. “I should get going.”

Again, Charles nodded. “See you in Autumn?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded. “See you soon,” he said. Then, he was headed off to Mycroft and the sedan and soon had disappeared inside.

Charles watched the sedan until it was out of sight. He could feel his eyes getting filled with tears, but tried to ignore that. It would be only about two months and yet those two months seemed like an eternity. Much too long until he would see his friend again and would be able to feel this brilliant mind close one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my big bro for sort of betaing this. All remaining mistakes are entirely my own.  
> Also, if I ever write something about rat-eating otters and adventurous explorer rats in libraries, that's his fault.


End file.
